Chapter Sixteen: Wulf

Panic robbed Baia of reason even as it gave me the strength to snatch her into my arms. She was slight, barely the size of a two-year old child and she clung to me tightly and whimpered in fear.

"Faster, Brack!"

I still gripped his hand, ready to drag him back to the smithy if need be. He was breathless and terrified but he understood what was at stake. Aslan bless him, his short legs never stopped for a moment. I had never before appreciated how small Dwarfs were. The adults are the size of children and the children are tiny.

A glance behind showed the path was clear, which was almost worse than it being occupied. There was no sign of the Fell Beast, no sounds but our panting breaths and pounding feet and Baia's quiet sobs. I was trying to remember anything I had learned about Werewulfs, but memory failed me and I came up with absolutely nothing except for the fact that they were horribly fast - far faster than Dwarfs or boys. I had seen Werewulfs at Beruna and the Stone Table but I had never fought one. Peter had fought them. Peter had killed them. Peter, who would not have forgotten to bring his bloody sword along!

I let out a gasp of relief at the sight of a slate roof through the trees. We were almost back. I finally released Brack and resisted the urge to put on a burst of speed. I wanted to shout out a warning to them but I had no voice.

Brack stumbled over a root and sprawled on the ground. I skidded to a halt, plowing up the moist dirt, and seizing his coat, hauled him to his feet with might I didn't know I possessed. His face was bleeding but it was of no consequence. I doubt he even felt it.

"Come on!"

Baia's shriek of terror was well timed - the moment she recognized her home she found her voice and almost deafened me with a piercing scream. I welcomed the pain because her cry alerted the whole smithy in one shot. As we staggered into the clearing doors slammed open and voices were raised. I didn't stop despite the questions thrown at me.

"Inside," I gasped. Baia had a death grip around my throat with both of her short arms. "Stay inside! Were-Werewulf!"

I ran straight to Brint's home. Slamming the door open with my shoulder, I almost knocked myself unconscious on the low lintel. Bly and Brint cried out in surprise at the sight of us all muddy and bloody and screaming. Bly jumped up and rushed to tend Brack's face. Baia refused to release me. I didn't stop until I reached my room at the end of the short hallway. I finally pried Baia's arms from around my neck and dropped her on the pallet. Brint rushed into the room as I snatched Shafelm off the wall.

"Edmund, what is this?" demanded the Dwarf.

I shoved past him. "The Werewulf! The Werewulf! It's here!"

"What?"

There was no time to strap Shafelm to my waist and I realized I had forgotten to return the metal sheath when I sent my mail and armor back to Cair Paravel. All the better. It was much sturdier than the leather sheath and I could use it as a shield of sorts.

Bly was tending to her hysterical children. She looked up in alarm as I moved through the main room of the house.

"King Edmund - what?" she asked desperately.

"The Werewulf! The Werewulf Peter's been warning us about! It's here! Now! It murdered a Duck and chased us back here. Move, Brint!" I shouted that last at the Black Dwarf blocking the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, incredulous.

"Defending my subjects! Either help me or get out of my way!"

"You're a child!"

"I'm a knight of Narnia!"

"You think you can kill that thing yourself?" shouted Brint.

"I can try!" I snapped hoarsely. "Stand aside!"

The door was shoved open and Brint was bounced aside by his elder brother's entrance. Brickit frowned in confusion and concern.

"What is this? What's going on?" he immediately asked, staring at my disheveled state and furious bearing.

I took the opportunity to move outdoors, pushing past both Dwarfs. "The Werewulf," I panted, suddenly hot now that I was still and had time to notice. "It's here. It followed us."

Lion's blessings be upon the Chief Smith! He did not waste time with questions. He did not hesitate or doubt my word. Brickit just followed me outside and shouted at the small crowd gathered.

"Bowmen! Get your weapons! Move your families to the long house! The Wulf is here! We will defend our home!"

Like Brickit, they never hesitated, but dashed hither and yon to obey, alarm giving them speed. The Black Dwarf looked to me.

"Have you a plan?"

Plan? What sort of question was that? I had no notion of their defensive capabilities or even the full layout of the smithy. I stared at him in disbelief.

"Kill it?" I suggested as if it was the most obvious option.

He was about to lose patience and reply when a scream erupted from across the compound. In that instant I was moving towards the terrible shrieks and yanking Shafelm from its sheath. The scream was picked up by other throats, mine among them as I loosed a battle-cry.

"NARNIA!"

"Edmund! No!"

I ignored Brickit's shout. No time to think. No time to plan. Beyond all thought or sense or reason I raced deeper into the little compound, fear for the Werewulf's victim spurring me on. Instinct told me Brickit and Brint were a few steps behind, laboring to keep up with my longer legs and lighter frame. I gave them little thought. I did not have to protect them as I did the children. There would be no retreat now. We would only attack and defend.

"This way!" ordered Brickit, veering to the left. At least he wasn't arguing with me.

Beneath the huge trees was cast into shadows, though the ground was kept clear between the few buildings. A small rill cutting through the compound slowed down the Dwarfs. Putting on a burst of speed, I leaped over it, landing heavily and keeping Shafelm well away from my body as I'd been taught. I could hear curses rising as my comrades struggled up the steep slope of the stream. There were other voices, less distinct, and I prayed they were the bowmen because Aslan save me, I had no idea of what to expect from this creature. The last time I had been in pitched battle was two months ago, but then Peter had been right beside me throughout the fight.

Perhaps it was just as well my brother the High King wasn't here with me now. He would be enraged at me for being so foolish as to go it alone.

But then Peter really couldn't argue - he himself would have done no less.

The screaming grew more panicked and I darted around a small chicken coop to see one of the older daughters of the clan backed against the wall of her house. A pitchfork was clutched in her hands and she was using it to keep a dark, wiry form at bay. Another scream rang out, but it wasn't the girl, it was her little sister crouched on the ground right behind her. Both girls were bleeding and the elder fended off a shaggy figure.

The Werewulf was a foul-looking thing - matted hair the color of coal covered its scrawny body. It stood on two feet, though I knew it could just as easily move about on all fours. Long, sinewy arms were raised, displaying clawed hands and fingers with too many joints. A shaggy tail lashed the air, helping it to balance as it stepped closer, taunting the girls and driving them to break and panic to make them that much easier to attack.

I dared not use my sword with the girls so close to the Werewulf, but I still clutched the metal case that housed the weapon. With a shout I swung the flat side of the sheath at the beast's head. It heard me and ducked, but it was a shade too slow and the sheath cracked it in the side of the head a glancing blow.

With a savage growl the Werewulf looked at me. Hideous. The face was mostly wolf - it's snout was too wide for a canine but too long and tapered for a human. Long teeth and a scarred nose and blue eyes that were more human than animal finished off the monstrous features. I darted back a step as it sniffed the air, a maniacal gleam filling those eyes. It made a gibbering, crazed sound and finally formed words.

"Man flesh!"

Oh, wonderful. I was a delicacy. I raised Shafelm, gauging the distance between me and the Werewulf, and I tightened my hold on the sheath.

"Kill you," it said in a guttural voice. Saliva and foam dripped from its mouth and in a rush of fear I remembered Peter's warning that we as Humans were not immune to the bite of these fiends. "Kill you, Son of Adam!"

Suddenly it jerked forward and yipped in pain as the Dwarf girl let out a grunt of effort and fury and drove her pitchfork into its leg. Ah, the women of Narnia. There are none more capable in the whole world. Torn between two threats, the Werewulf used the momentum of her strike and lunged at me.

"Run!" I screamed. "Run!"

She seized her sister and they fled. I swung as the Werewulf lurched into range, those long arms reaching across the distance between us. My timing was off - the blow was a moment late. I felt Shafelm impact its ribs, the blade biting into unclean flesh even as its clawed fingers scratched 'neath my jaw and down my neck. I shouted in fury and pain, a cry echoed by the monster I fought, as we became a fouled mass of steel and limbs and confusion.

Then powerful arms seized me around the waist and I was yanked bodily to the ground. I was too caught up in the urgency of battle to understand what was happening and tried to struggle, kicking and fighting.

"Down!" shouted Brickit, trying to hold me.

"Fire!" Brint ordered in that same instant.

The familiar hissing hum of arrows whizzing overhead brought me back and I stilled, letting the Dwarf hold me down. Pain exploded in my head from the blow the Werewulf had landed and the impact on the ground. A flash of memory assailed me: Ginnarrbrick, the bite of his whip, a knife pressed to my throat, his weight pinning me, the cold of snow beneath me, his sadistic, knowing laugh . . .

I panicked.

"Still!" hissed Brickit. "Be still, you fool!"

An unholy cry split the air, a howl of of hatred and defiance and fear. More arrows flew above. I could hear their impact upon flesh and I remembered the razor-sharp points the Master had shown me. The cry of pain became a gasp, then a whimper.

Oh, dear Aslan, that wasn't the Werewulf making that sound. It was me.

I opened my eyes, staring at the branches and the hints of blue sky beyond. It was not Winter. Brickit was not the White Witch's minion. They were gone. Dead. They could not touch me.

Please, Aslan, don't let them touch me.

An unnatural silence filled the air.

"Dead?" demanded Brint nervously.

Someone kicked the Werewulf's corpse.

"La. Dead as a herring, praise be to the Lion."

More silence. No one knew what to say or do. Everything had happened so quickly. Not a quarter of an hour could have passed since Baia and Brack and I had returned from gathering fiddleheads.

I shifted and Brickit let me go. I twisted away from his hold, away from the bloody, hairy heap that had been the Fell Beast. Somehow I gained my feet, stunned and aching and frightened still. I clutched Shafelm's grip desperately, feeling my strength drain away. I took a few, unsteady steps. My jaw burned and my tunic was bloodied and I couldn't breathe without shuddering.

"Edmund?"

I forced myself to look at Brickit. Something about my expression kept him from coming any closer, but something in his aspect told me that he wanted to help as desperately as I needed it. Everyone was absolutely still and every eye was fixed not on the slain Werewulf, but on me. I realized in a rush that their anxiety had shifted from the safety of their home and families . . . to me, their king.

Narnians all, they were. My subjects. My cousins. My friends.

They were nothing, nothing like the Black Dwarfs who had served the White Witch.

The Chief Smith took a step towards me. "Sit before you fall, boy. You received the worst of it."

He caught me as my legs gave out and he eased me down to a seated position, peering at me in concern all the while. I stiffened at his touch and then I looked down at his tan, calloused hands and saw that they trembled slightly as he steadied me and gently wrested the sword from my fingers and set it aside. Brint called out for someone to come dress the scratches on my neck. Smiling kindly, Brickit gave my shoulder a squeeze, then carefully he raised my chin to check the long scrapes, looking but not touching and talking all the while. "I suppose this means I'll be obligated to listen in the future, Spawn, seeing as how the Nancy was right to worry."

I raised an eyebrow, as close to saying 'I told you so' as I thought it would be proper for a king to get.

"Of course, if he hadn't used up all the worry in Narnia, there might have been some left for the rest of us and we would have been more alert."

I snorted faintly, which was all the amusement I could manage. Brickit held me steady and spoke nonsense and wit to distract me from my pain and reaction. I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch, and said a prayer to Aslan, giving thanks to him for watching over me so closely this day.